Here is a piece I wrote many a years ago in college. It was interesting coming back to it, there is a lot I would change but I think it still retains some charm - despite my disagreement with some of the emotions associated with it.
Does anyone else have old pieces that tend to resurface in places you don't expect?
Emotions are a tricky thing. I’ve always been amazed and yet terrified at the power they
hold on our decisions. Logic is the ultimate dictator, and his rulings are often ruthless. I am
shocked if others do not follow his command, yet I myself am guilty of subverting his orders.
Mother emotion is the final driver, a subliminal yet inching reminder.
I still have not been ripped from her loving arms, despite my effort. I push and pull on her
chest, desperately trying to run away. But she won’t let me escape that easily. Time may loosen
her grip, but she never truly lets go.
It wasn’t until I met you that I had my own Mother emotion. You generously gifted it to
me, only to leave yours. Stuck flashing memories on loop, tears on standby. I was there to
crucify.
Soon, the wind blew the palms trees aggressively in sync with the lapping of the waves
on the shore. The air had turned black. Smoke floods the clouds. Thunder crackles, being the
only thing surpassing the loud mechanical roaring in the distance. A beast from the sea, his bones
made of steel, and his breath of soot. Plumes of mist barrage the shore as the creature
inefficiently lumbers to the white sand. It’s hook-like tentacles violently slam into the ground,
digging up vast quantities of soil.
The creature was beautiful. Flowing wires, mechanical eyes. All judging, everlasting. It’s
hooks plunged deep into myself, piercing. Activity fills the streets as the lumbering behemoth
impales the concrete and suburban homes. Turning gears and shifting mechanisms. Shifting
sand, turning hearts.
Despite the pain, I had felt jealousy. Those hooks were reserved for many. The pain you
inflicted, I wanted it to be mine alone. Because despite it all, the steel was the warmest touch I
could feel.
It was not until I looked around at the others to realize that they had been hurting, too.
Pierced, at the same time as me. Why would I expect loyalty from the mechanical?
Despite the embrace of Mother emotion, it was the dictator who had freed me from my
entrapment. It’s utter cruelty made for a good match. Reality soon beset emotion; but never
replaced it.
A loud bang, followed by distant whizzing. Man-sized shells bombard the ground
violently, lodging themselves around the creature. It’s head is insect-like — composed of many
shutter-like eyes. It groans in distress as it quakes from the impact.
Utterly violent realization filled the air.
A hydraulic door on the shell opens, a robotic man. Only similar to humans in their form,
the speed and efficiency at which they operate can only be described as inhuman.
The lost machine violently impales the robotic men with its hook-feet, as they in turn fire
upon the beast. Their shots ricochet.
One of the men bounces a cube in its hands, before throwing it upwards.
It quakes in pain as the cube illuminates the sky in a dazzling array of green and purple.
Small metallic reality burst from the cube, each carrying ropes of blue flame. Quickly
surrounded. Incapacitated, and damaged from the inside.
It took me a while to understand the cube’s significance. Or, rather, the culmination of
many metallic insects. Buzzing, talking to my ear. Speeding through and through, in and out.
It wasn’t until they had been released violently, simultaneously that I had freed myself
from the machine's hooks.
Yet, I am scared. Refusing to let go. Bombarded with shells of Mother emotion. She may
never leave me, but I have accepted that. I have to.
Despite it all, despite all the damage the hooks had caused. Despite the promises of
loyalty, not just to me, but the many others. Reformed, remangled.
Reimagined and re-entangled. There is an art in letting go. There is an art in love. Why
do they refuse to mix?
